


It's not magic

by HapaxLegomenon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sports Anime Shipping Olympics 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HapaxLegomenon/pseuds/HapaxLegomenon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were friends, best friends, and then, somewhere along the way, they just became something… else.</p><p>Edit and re-post from SASO15 BR1</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not magic

**Author's Note:**

> Edited slightly and re-posted from an entry written for the SASO15 Bonus Round 1.
> 
> Prompt: Circle me and the needle moves gracefully  
> Back and forth, if my heart was a compass you'd be North  
> Risk it all cause I'll catch you if you fall  
> Wherever you go, if my heart was a house you'd be home  
> \- If My Heart Was A House, Owl City

Whenever anyone asked Kenma how long he and Kuroo had been “ _together_ together”, he shrugged.  Kuroo’s response was just to laugh.  It tended to make people feel like they were trying to be mysterious, or secretive, or – in Lev’s words – stingy.  Really, though, it was just because they didn’t actually know themselves.  They were friends, best friends, and then, somewhere along the way, they just became something… else.

Not something _better_ , Kuroo would say, offended at the implication that there was anything at all wrong with friendship (to which Yamamoto would cheer and Kenma would roll his eyes), but just something different.  Just that somewhere along the way, Kuroo started kissing Kenma’s cheeks while he played his games, instead of ruffling his hair, and Kenma started holding Kuroo’s hand when they rode empty train cars together, leaning against his side instead of scooting out of reach.

When it turned from a romantic kind of thing to a sexual one, well, they both knew _exactly_ when that had happened.  But that was nobody’s business.  Especially Yamamoto’s.

“Codependent,” Yaku called it, to Kuroo’s amusement and Kenma’s indignation.  Because it felt like a dig at him.  Kuroo was fine on his own.  Everyone knew Kuroo was fine on his own, Kuroo made friends and went out and did things without Kenma and was happy.  But Kenma just preferred not to.  Not that he couldn’t, really, but he didn’t like small talk and he didn’t like to watch volleyball and he didn’t like crowds, so if Kuroo wasn’t there to drag him out he was quite content to snuggle up with a blanket and a game and sit in the dark.  It was a choice, not a dependency.  They were complete people on their own, with or without each other.  He didn’t like the implication otherwise and managed to creep Yaku out by staring at him narrow-eyed for the rest of that day’s practice.

“It was just a joke,” Kuroo said later, trying to smooth down Kenma’s ruffled feathers.  “C’mon.  The team knows that.  Yaks definitely knows.  Sheathe your claws, kitty cat.” 

Kenma, in delayed retaliation for the jibe, deliberately ran his short, jagged-edged nails down Kuroo’s side later that night and bit at his cheek.  Kuroo gasped and laughed breathlessly and wrapped his legs tighter around Kenma’s waist.

“Did you know I have Kenma-radar?”  Kuroo asked one night, apropos of nothing, in his bizarre interpretation of what constituted appropriate pillow-talk.  Kenma hadn’t responded, but Kuroo was used to that and continued undeterred.  “It’s true, according to Inuoka and Lev, anyway.  I always know where you are and what you’re doing.  They think it’s hilarious.”

It wasn’t magic or magnetism or telepathy, though, Kenma thought.  Just familiarity.  Kuroo knew Kenma’s habits just as well as Kenma knew his, there wasn’t anything mystical about it.  Kenma always knew where Kuroo was, what he was doing, too.  Knew his habits, his footsteps, the rhythm of his breathing when he was sleeping or spiking or studying.

When he voiced those thoughts, Kuroo had kissed the side of his head and said, “I know that.  But they don’t have what we do, they wouldn’t get it, and besides, as their captain it’s good to have them be just a little bit in awe of me.  Makes them easier to control if they think I can read their minds.”

Kenma supposed that was true.

It was nice, being a whole person, but becoming another whole person with someone else.  More together than the sum of their parts, Kuroo had said once, and Kenma liked that much better than Yaku’s codependency.  It was nice.  Comfortable and comforting, safe. 

Safe until Kuroo had to move away to go to university.  They’d hugged each other and cried an embarrassing amount and tried to fuck the melancholy away, but in the end Kuroo had to leave and Kenma had to stay behind.

“Just for a year, though,” Kuroo said over the phone while Kenma nodded silently, aching, on the other end.  “So hurry up and graduate and I swear to god, Kenma, if you don’t get into this university I’m going to dye your hair pink while you sleep.”

Still, even across the distance, Kuroo’s “Kenma-radar” and Kenma’s “Kuroo-radar” continued to work.  They lost some sensitivity, it was true, and it was harder for Kenma to adjust his schema of Kuroo to include his new home and classes and schedule and friends.  But with the sheer volume of messages and emails and phone calls and Skype sessions, they knew everything going on in each other’s lives anyway. 

“What’s Kuroo doing right now?” Lev liked to ask during practice, or Inuoka when he cornered Kenma in the hallway or at lunch.  They always looked so delighted with Kenma’s answers, no matter how mundane – “He’s eating dinner,” “He’s studying calculus,” “He’s at practice,” “He’s supposed to be in English class but he’s probably skipping.”  It made Kenma smile, just a little, to know that the new second-years hadn’t forgotten their crafty former-captain.

“You’re coming home this weekend,” Kenma said into the phone one night, and it was a statement, not a question.  Kuroo laughed.

“How did you know?  But yeah, my Friday practice was cancelled so I’ll be getting on the train right after class.  I can’t wait to see you.”

Kenma couldn’t wait, either, and cut out of his own practice a half hour early to go meet Kuroo at the station.  When Kuroo’s train arrived, Kenma watched, wobbling on tip-toe, for that familiar dark shock of bedhead and wide shoulders.  He spotted Kuroo before Kuroo saw him and ran across the platform, dodging commuters and old ladies and children to throw himself at Kuroo.

“Hi,” Kuroo said, squeezing him tight and smelling his hair.  “I’m home.”

“Welcome home.”  Kenma relished the feeling of completeness, now that Kuroo was here, now that they were together.  They were their own people, complete in themselves, with their own lives and happinesses and responsibilities, but when they were together, they were just _more_.

“Missed you,” they whispered between night-time kisses, curved around and within each other, moving slowly under the sheets.  “Missed you.  Missed this.  Love you so much.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> Talk fandom to me on Twitter at [@paxlegomenon](https://twitter.com/paxlegomenon).


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